Family Comes First - Revisited
by praemonitus praemunitus
Summary: Let's just say I didn't much like the season 4 finale, and then this little scene popped into my head, and I said to myself - hmm, why not? Or, to put it another way, here's one more excuse for me to whump Steve :)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N Uhm, so this image popped into my head a couple of days ago and... uh... well, here we are. I never did like the last season finale, I felt there just wasn't enough ... anything (emotions, whump, plot, resolution, you name it). So this is a what if idea, if you will. What if the team didn't disarm the fake SWAT officers? What if things got a bit more out of control? **

**It is meant as a one-shot, although I do have an idea on how to wrap this up and tie it into the ending of the finale, if need be. For now, though, I just wanted to throw this out there and see what you, guys, think. So, here we go (running away to hide now)**

* * *

><p>It was a standoff. Six thugs in SWAT uniforms and Grover among them – their guns pointed menacingly at Steve's own team.<p>

"What the hell is going on, Lou?" Steve inquired tersely, glaring at his supposed friend over the barrel of his gun, the hurt of betrayal in the dark blue eyes overwhelming the initial shock of surprise.

"I'm sorry, Steve. I'm so sorry," the big man cried out, his voice trembling with poorly contained emotions. "They got my daughter! I had to– I'm sorry..."

_His daughter?_ Steve heard Danny's shocked gasp beside him, his own gut clenching with dread and sympathy for the distraught man. His mind wandered briefly to Lou's aborted phone call earlier that day and the man's uncharacteristically fidgety behavior, when he showed up at Lou's doorstep. He knew then that something was off, but he didn't push, when Lou assured him that everything was alright.

There was too much on his mind – Wo Fat's escape, news of his mother's continuous attempts to reach out to his nemesis, the vivid daily nightmares of his near-execution at the hands of the Taliban, Catherine's abrupt departure – he was trying his best to simply function without letting all this stuff drag him under. So he didn't push. He let it go, wrote it off as his frayed nerves screwing with his head.

He should have said something, though. If not to Lou, then, at least, to Duke, to his team. Maybe then they wouldn't be in this situation.

"Put your weapons down! NOW!" The roared command startled him out of his self-recriminating thoughts, and he gripped his gun tighter, because _there was just no way..._

"McGarrett, please," Grover's pleading, desperate voice brought him up short, and he frowned, vacillating.

"Please, man, my daughter..." the SWAT captain trailed off, his voice trembling, and Steve knew he was beat.

Relaxing his hold on the gun just a fraction, he glanced over his shoulder at Danny, silently asking for confirmation. The blond nodded almost imperceptibly, his face mirroring the pain Steve heard in Grover's voice – commiseration of a fellow parent. And Steve relented.

Spreading his arms out in a gesture of surrender, gun hanging harmlessly by the trigger guard off his forefinger, he crouched down slowly, carefully setting the weapon onto the ground. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his teammates follow suit.

A tall bald-headed thug moved swiftly past him toward the van. Steve heard the bang of the back doors being flung open. A fraction of a second later he was suddenly being pulled to his feet and manhandled to the said van, a gun shoved unceremoniously under his chin.

"Where is it?" the bald head growled, pressing him against the open door. "Where's the money?"

Steve blinked in surprise at the conspicuously empty van. The enormous stack of cash that he and his team were supposed to have been transporting was gone. Where? How? He had no idea. He told the man as much.

The response came in the form of a hard shove, his back being slammed painfully against the metal door, and the pressure of the gun increasing, pushing deeper into his skin.

"I don't... know where the money is," he insisted stubbornly, his voice strained by the painful pressure.

The gun pushed further still, and he gasped, feeling his air supply suddenly cut off.

"Hey! Hey! He told you he doesn't know!" his partner's panicked voice cut through the steadily increasing roar in his ears. "None of us know what happened. Maybe the guy you should be talking to is the DEA agent who handled it."

The thug frowned at that, sparing a glance at Danny, and then cocked his head to the side, his gaze unfocussed, as he appeared to listen to something on his earpiece.

"Very well, Commander," he said finally, pulling the gun back a bit to allow him to breathe once more. "It appears you have been telling us the truth." He nodded to the rest of his crew. "Take Grover and get back in the truck. The good captain hasn't finished helping us yet."

And as the rest of the phony SWAT officers piled back into the armored truck, the man turned his attention back to Steve, whom he still had pinned firmly against the door of the van. A feral grin twisted his lips, as he met the SEAL's murderous glare. The hand holding the gun slid down past the bottom edge of the vest, the barrel pressing against the small strip of unprotected skin above the belt.

"This is to make sure your team doesn't interfere with the rest of our plans," he offered as an explanation and pulled the trigger.

The deafening retort of a gun drowned out all other sound. For a moment the world froze. There was only him, Steve, and the bald gunman, his face inches away, smiling even wider. And then the other man stepped back, releasing him abruptly, and the world began to spin – faster, faster, faster, like an out of control carousel. He slammed his eyes shut, hoping to stop the dizzying turn of the images around him, hoping that it would soon pass.

But his legs buckled with no warning, and he sagged heavily onto his knees, trembling hands desperately seeking purchase on the warm tarmac.

Hands were on him suddenly, firm and gentle. They wouldn't let him fall, he realized, and he relaxed into their grip, allowing them to guide him carefully onto the ground. Words drifted to him through the thick wads of cotton that seemed to have been stuffed into his ears. "... ambulance... take this... pressure..."

Something pressed hard onto his stomach, and he bucked, gasping in pain.

"Easy, babe, easy." This time the words were spoken clearly right above his ear, and he peeled his eyes open, gazing blearily up at the familiar face.

"D..an-"

The blond gave him a tense encouraging smile. "Yeah, babe. I'm here. You're gonna be alright. The ambulance is on its way."

He frowned, blinking sluggishly, as he fought to focus. "You... naked..."

The laugh that broke past Danny's lips was an odd mixture of amusement and tearful worry. "Trust you to focus on the important stuff, McGarrett," he huffed. "If you must know, my shirt is currently being used as a giant bandaid to keep your ass from bleeding out all over this nice clean tarmac. So get your mind out of the gutter."

He smiled, too, then. At least he tried to. He wasn't sure. Couldn't feel much of anything anymore. But there was something he needed– "Gro-ver...," he breathed out, and Danny leaned into his space once more, his gaze intense.

"What is it, babe?"

"Y-you... need... help him... f-find..." he closed his eyes, needing to gather his strength. Why was he so damn tired?

"Steve?!" Danny's hand was shaking him now, his partner's voice bordering on frantic. "Find what, Steve? Come on!" he demanded, the grip on Steve's shoulder becoming almost painful. "Tell me!"

"N-Novak...," he opened his eyes again, trying his best to glare at his partner. Why was Danny being so slow? Didn't he explain himself? Did he? "H-have Ko-...K-Kono... search..."

"We're on it, Boss, don't worry," Kono's trembling voice came from his right, and he sought her out, blinking his appreciation.

"Steve? Steve?!" Danny's worried shout was accompanied by another rough shake of his shoulder, and he frowned in confusion – he never realized his eyes slid closed again.

Sighing, he fought to raise his heavy lids once more, the effort proving to be almost insurmountable. But the immense relief he saw in his friend's face was worth the struggle. Too bad he couldn't offer him any more reassurances.

"..'m cold, Danny...," he mumbled, feeling a shudder go through him. The blond was leaning over him now, his face - only inches away from Steve's, and there was something so haunted, so terrified in the pale blue eyes that Steve felt an overwhelming need to reassure his friend, to tell him that it was all going to be alright. If only he could get his mouth to work...

"Stay with me, Steve," his partner begged hoarsely. And that just wasn't right – Danny never begged. "Come on, man, please..."

Steve tried to tell him that he will try, that he will do his goddamn best. But his body refused to listen to his commands, and all he could manage was a barely audible "t-tired..."

The world grayed out, leaving nothing but that pair of panicked, tear-filled blue eyes, staring pleadingly into his own. Another blink, and they were gone as well. And there was only darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N First of, let me just say WOW. You, guys, have completely overwhelmed me with your response to this story. I'm floored, I'm humbled, I'm blushing like crazy. Thank you SO SO much!**

**I tried to wrap up the story as quickly as possible, but the chapter sort of got away from me, as I realized just how many loose ends I had to tie. So it ended up a lot longer than I anticipated, and it probably would have been even longer if I delved further into each of the scenes I set up, but I was afraid of dragging it out too much. I tried to stay within the confines of the season finale (more or less) but at the same time give it an ending that would have made more sense to me AS a season finale ending (what can I say, I like cliffies). I hope you like what I did. As always, I look forward to your comments.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

The loud, unmistakable echo of a weapon discharging jolted SWAT captain Lou Grover out of the murky waters of self-blame. A desperate shout of "NO!" that followed chilled him to the very core.

He surged up and off his seat, running for the still open truck door even before his conscious mind had time to sanction the movement. The barrel of a shotgun jabbed under his ribs stopped his forward progress, and he froze, hands raised in the air.

"Sit your ass back down!" came a surly command, and Grover complied, backing up slowly until he was back in his seat, his worried gaze never leaving the door.

When, moments later the remaining member of this crew stepped inside the truck, shutting the door behind him and signaling for the driver to take off, Grover turned to the man. "What happened out there?" he inquired nervously, rising subconsciously off his seat once more, only to be pushed roughly back down by the closest goon. "What did you do?"

The bald-headed thug favored him with a disdainful glare. "I gave 5-0 something else to focus on," he offered vaguely. "They won't interfere."

The finality of the statement made the lump of fear that had settled somewhere deep in Lou's throat at the sound of the gunshot grow stronger, his heart clenching in icy foreboding. _ Someone from McGarrett's team has been shot. Who? How bad? _ He swallowed dryly, scrubbing a shaking hand down his face, feeling the truck pick up speed, as it entered the highway. _How the hell did this day get so out of control?_

~H50~

He kept the pressure on. The sun was beating down mercilessly onto his bare back. His knees ached from standing on them and from the added strain of trying not to slip in the steadily growing pool of dark, sticky red. His arms trembled from the effort. Yet he dared not move. He kept the pressure on.

Steve had stopped breathing a few moments ago, and Chin moved in to begin chest compressions. Danny heard him huffing out the life-saving rhythm beside him, but he didn't dare look his way. Didn't want to see the near-paralyzing fear he himself felt reflected in his friend's eyes. Was afraid that it would be enough to crush the tiny flicker of hope that still smoldered within him. He kept the pressure on.

~H50~

It was sheer luck that one of the EMTs that responded to Kono's frantic 911 call was a former army medic with combat experience. That having used Combat Gauze during his tour of duty, he insisted on having the stuff in his kit, even though it wasn't standard for their EMS service. And it was that one bit of luck that ended up making the tiny hair of difference between life and death...

The ambulance pulled to a screeching halt before them, and moments later Danny was being moved aside, gently but firmly, the ministrations having been taken over by two paramedics.

"There's too much bleeding for a simple through and through," the taller of them, Bryan Lofton, according to his name tag, observed sullenly, as he checked the wounds. Looking up at his colleague, he inquired tersely, "What's his pressure like?"

The second EMT pulled back from leaning over Steve's prone body and looped the stethoscope around his neck. "BP's dropping," he announced with an unhappy frown. "He's tachy."

"What-," Danny's voice caught on a sudden upsurge of fear, and he sucked in a sharp, spasmodic breath, fighting to get the words out, "what is ... happening?"

Lofton paused, meeting Danny's desperate gaze with a calm, steadying one of his own. "Your friend is going into shock, bleeding out," he stated bluntly, his hands reaching blindly for his kit. "Looks like an arterial bleed, too, the bullet probably nicked it on its way out." Grabbing a camo green pouch, he ripped it open, pulling out a thick pad of gauze, and gave Danny a tensely encouraging smile. "This stuff here has clotting agent inside it," he explained, his hands continuing to move with military efficiency. "I'm gonna get it into the wound to try and stop the bleeding, buy us enough time so we can get him to the hospital to get fixed up."

Numb with fear and helplessness, Danny was left to stare wide-eyed as the man began stuffing the gauze quickly and efficiently straight into Steve's wound, the white material disappearing inch after inch.

He felt Chin and Kono move in to stand beside him, the cousins' hands gripping his shoulders, warm, soothing, and it was all he could do not to lean into the proffered comfort, not to let himself crumble just yet. Because he was close. Oh, so close. And it wouldn't do Steve any good if he lost it right here, so he hung on. By setting his teeth so hard that his jaw felt close to shattering. By digging his fingernails so deep into the skin of his palms that blood began to welt soon underneath his fingertips.

The world that had sputtered to a breath-stopping halt, as the two medics worked with urgent efficiency to get Steve's bleeding under control, suddenly lurched back to life with the clipped "He's stabilizing, let's move!", and Danny lurched forward, too, stumbling in a hurry to catch up with them, lest they should deny him the ability to come along.

The EMTs said nothing, but suddenly there was a hand on his arm, helping him into the truck. He would have shrugged it off, but, in all honesty, with the way his legs trembled he wasn't at all sure he would have been able to climb into the back on his own without breaking his nose on the metal steps. He would have said thank you, but his mouth felt like sun-cracked sand and he couldn't get his tongue to move.

The medic held on to him long enough to settle him on the bench across from Steve's gurney, and Danny leaned forward, latching on to his friend's limp cool hand as to a lifeline, as the ambulance took off, sirens blazing.

The ride passed in a blur, and it wasn't until they were already approaching the hospital that he remembered the cousins, and he shook his head, berating his loss of composure. He felt bad for abandoning them like that, even though deep inside he knew they understood. He would call them later. He would apologize. But right now he couldn't bear the thought of doing anything beyond simply sitting here next to Steve and holding on.

He didn't relinquish his hold even as the back doors of the ambulance were flung open and the gurney was swiftly pulled out. Even as they raced through the busy hospital hallways. All the way to the doors of the OR. Where he was told to stop. Where they wouldn't let him through. Where he was forced to let go.

He opened his mouth to argue, but no words would come out. Instead all air suddenly pulled away, like the ocean water moments before a tsunami wave crashes ashore, and he gulped convulsively, flapping his mouth like a fish left in the wake of that retreating water. A moment later the air returned, slamming down on him in a violent gust that threw his world upside down and blurred his vision.

He felt himself being dragged away, shoved unceremoniously into a chair, and then his head was being pulled down to rest between his knees, someone's cool hand keeping a steadying pressure on his neck, while his mind stuttered like a broken phonograph record, replaying the scene of Steve's shooting over and over and over again.

Seconds, minutes, hours later, when he was able to breathe again, he fought his way up, meeting the already familiar pair of grayish blue eyes of the medic.

"My last tour, a buddy of mine got gutshot. High-power rifle. Very messy." The EMT spoke quietly, his hand maintaining a supportive hold on Danny's shoulder. "This gauze I put into your friend – it was the only thing that held him together until we were able to get him out of the line of fire."

He straightened out, giving Danny's shoulder one last squeeze before letting go. "Listen, I gotta get going, but my man Corey, here," he pointed to a red-haired freckled nurse that had somehow materialized beside him without Danny being conscious of the exact moment of his appearance, "is gonna take care of you. He'll help you wash off and get you some clean clothes, so you can be a bit more comfortable while you wait. Alright?"

The EMT moved to leave, when Danny finally found his voice. "Uh... Bryan?" he inquired hoarsely, standing up on legs that still trembled with adrenaline letdown. "Your friend, did he make it?"

The smile on the other man's face grew wider, his broad, suntanned face lighting up like an over decorated Christmas tree. "Best man at his wedding last month, sir," he replied, winking. "Don't worry. Your buddy's in good hands."

~H50~

The SWAT truck tore down the massive wooden gates of the Makuakane Family compound, sending the guards scrambling for cover. Grover didn't know how Wright was able to track down the money here, nor, frankly did he care much. The only thing that mattered to him at this point was getting this thing over with as quickly as possible, so he could get his baby girl back. And once that was over, once the money was secured and his daughter was released, he would go and hunt down every single son of a bitch that was involved in this and make them pay: for terrifying his little girl, for shaving a good decade off his life, for killing_, yes, quite possibly, killing,_ one of the four people he had come to consider his friends.

Greater firepower in a gun battle makes for a more convincing argument. And, as far as firepower goes, an armored SWAT truck with a bunch of Kevlar-clad thugs beats a few Kevlar-less hired guns armed with little more than pistols and assault rifles any time.

The whole thing was over quickly. The final tally: two dead on Ian's team, five on Makuakane's, including the head of the family himself. The rest of the family and its guards surrendered, lying on the floor on their stomachs, hands over their heads.

Lou picked himself up off the ground, trying to catch his breath after a well-placed round to the center of his vest, watching as the rogue DEA agent, Novak, haltingly spilled his guts, blood oozing from a particularly nasty bullet wound in his thigh. And all he could think was that it was over; they got the money; his little girl could go home now.

So when a shotgun was suddenly leveled on his chest, he stumbled back, surprised.

"Thank you for your help there, Captain," the thug grinned, finger tightening on the trigger. "Your services are no longer required."

"Wait, wait," he stuttered, hands going up on their own accord. "What about my daughter?"

"I'll be sure to let Ian know of your continued cooperation," the thug promised cheekily, and that was it. Grover closed his eyes, waiting for that final bullet to strike, sending out a mental apology to his daughter, his wife, the 5-0 team, all those he failed.

A weapon discharged. Once, again, and two more times in rapid succession. Eyes wide open now, Lou cowered in disoriented confusion, blinking stupidly at his two unexpected rescuers from underneath his still raised hands.

"You looked like you needed a bit of help there, brah," Chin Ho Kelly observed lightly, lowering his signature shotgun with his habitual look of unperturbed calm.

Today, though, there was something else lurking behind that calmness, and, as his younger cousin slung her rifle over her shoulder, bending down to secure the one thug, who was still breathing, the glaring absence of the other two members of 5-0 made the dull needle, that had settled somewhere deep in his heart from the moment Lou heard that single gunshot from inside the SWAT truck, twinge with a fearful foreboding.

"McGarrett? Williams?" he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer to his half-whispered question.

"Steve's been shot," Kono's face darkened, as if a heavy storm cloud had descended, casting a mournful shadow upon her delicate features. "He's in the hospital. Danny's with him."

Mouth dry, he fought to force out more questions: _How did they find him? How bad was Steve?_

"Come on," Kelly cut in, not giving him a chance to voice those. "Let's take the money and get your daughter back."

~H50~

"The EMT that brought Commander McGarrett in," the gray-haired bespectacled doctor smiled tiredly at a pale, nervous Danny, as he sat down beside him in a waiting room chair. "I think your friend owes him a beer."

To Danny, who had been waiting for what seemed like hours for his friend to get out of surgery, not knowing whether he'd live or die, the relief was almost overpowering. "You mean...," he swallowed convulsively, feeling his heart flutter madly, like a trapped bird, thrashing to break free, "... Steve's gonna be fine?"

"The Commander is not out of the woods yet," the surgeon cautioned, but his tone remained encouragingly light. "The bullet caused a small rupture in his aorta, and he lost a significant amount of blood as a result."

Danny nodded, thinking back to what the EMT had told him earlier. "Bryan, the paramedic, he suspected something like this. That's why he used that ... clotting gauze thing."

"And it saved Commander McGarrett's life," the doctor confirmed, giving him another smile before moving to stand up. "We're going to keep him in the ICU for a little while, just to keep a closer eye on him. My nurse will come get you, once he's settled."

"Thank you," Danny murmured sincerely, and, as the other man began walking away, he called out to him, "About that beer, doc..."

"Yes?"

"You think a lifetime supply would cover it?"

The doctor's answering laugh echoed along the hallway.

~H50~

A phone call from Chin came as Danny sat quietly in a less-than-comfortable chair at his partner's bedside, watching the reassuring rise and fall of the man's chest. He quickly snatched up the ringing device, lest it should disturb his friend's healing slumber.

"Hey, Danny, how's Steve doing?"

"He's out of surgery," the blond whispered, afraid to raise his voice and unwilling to move further away. "The doctor's optimistic. No major organs were hit... if you don't count the ruptured artery, so all the Super SEAL's gotta do now is ... heal."

There was a sharply sucked in breath on the other side. "So the medic guy was right... about him bleeding out?"

_"Don't remind me," _Danny groaned inwardly. "Yeah... He's going to be alright, though," he asserted with heated conviction, while trying his best not to look at Steve's face - ashen and sunken and so, so still. "All the holes have been sewed back up. The red stuff he lost is being pumped back in... It's all under control."

"Has he been awake at all?" It was Kono on the line now, her voice breaking just a bit, and dammit if that slight catch in her voice didn't make Danny slam his eyes shut against a sudden onslaught of unbidden tears.

"Uh... in and out," he managed hoarsely, wrapping his free hand tighter around the bed rail. "Mostly out." He took a deep breath, choosing to shift gears. "What's going on on your end? Did you find Lou?"

"We did. Found him and the money..."

"I sense a 'but' in there," the blond frowned, not liking the odd tension in his teammate's voice. "What happened?"

There was a pause, long and uncomfortable, that made Danny's insides twist into an uneasy knot. "We got a call from HPD," Kono said finally, her words careful and reluctant. "Lou's daughter came into the precinct a little while ago. She said that Ian Wright was dead."

"Dead? How?"

"She said that a ... scary-looking man with burns over half his body came into the house, where she was held, shot Ian and ...let her go."

_"Wo Fat?" _An icy shock surged through him like a jolt of electricity, his body going momentarily numb. The phone tumbled onto his lap from the suddenly nerveless fingers, Kono's teeny call of "Danny?" coming anxiously through the speaker, and he snapped back to attention, frantically grabbing the device.

"What did he-... did he say anything to her?"

"Said he and Steve needed to talk," came the halting response, followed by another moment of strained silence. "Are you gonna tell Steve?"

Danny shook his head automatically, forgetting for a moment that she couldn't see him. "No," he replied vehemently, casting a worried look at his motionless friend. _This was definitely not what Steve needed right now. _ "Not until he's strong enough to handle it." Setting his jaw in a hard line, he added firmly, "In the meantime, it may not be a bad idea to post a guard outside Steve's door, in case this son of a bitch decides to have this conversation in the hospital."

There was a consenting grunt on the other end, followed by a clipped, adamant, "Will do."

~H50~

Flashes of images flickered across his mind – a broken video projection of physical and emotional torments, repeating over and over again in the same cruel succession. Freddie's death. His father's murder. The dirty abandoned bunker in North Korea – Wo Fat's maniacal smile as he pounded him with his fists. His mother – alive and well, and lying to his face, playing him, manipulating. Afghanistan –the bearded hate-filled faces, the beatings, the machete raised above his exposed neck, seconds away from slashing into his skin, slicing through muscle and bone.

He couldn't stand it anymore. He needed to get out, to break free from this personal horror show, to pull away from the darkness of his nightmares and wake up. Just. Wake. Up. But waking – a task that has never been so difficult before, now seemed almost insurmountable. It was as if darkness itself had latched on to him like a starving vampire, sinking its ugly yellowed fangs deep into his flesh and lapping away, sapping his strength and leaving him too weak to fight.

But never let it be said that Steve McGarrett was a quitter. No, sir. He fought. He fought like hell, with everything he had – every last ounce of energy, every final drop of blood.

And he won. Weak and exhausted beyond belief, he finally surfaced, nearly crying out with joy as the smells and feels of the real world replaced the dark horrors of his dreams. The return to consciousness meant the return to awareness of the dull throbbing in his abdomen – something he had yet to fully process. He didn't let it discourage him, though. He reveled in his victory a moment longer, gathering strength, content to simply lie there for a moment and enjoy his wakefulness.

There was a shift in the air beside him, a presence, and he pried his eyes open, blinking myopically under the sudden onslaught of light. Moments later his eyes adjusted, and he was able to focus on the face above him. And he froze, feeling himself slowly being pulled right back into the stuff of his nightmares.

Cold, dark eyes stared back at him from a hideously burned familiar face. "Welcome back, Commander," the tiny condescending smile that pulled at the pale lips was a feral grin of a ruthless predator. " We need to talk."

* * *

><p><em>FIN<em>

_Danny went to get coffee. Wo Fat (who seems to have an unnatural ability for omniscience) knew exactly the moment Steve was left alone and... fade to black _Dun-dun-dun-dah... __

_Ahem, well, that's how I envisioned it, at least. _


End file.
